


They Cannot See Me

by skies_of_blue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Friendship, Post-Hogwarts, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-22
Updated: 2005-10-22
Packaged: 2018-10-27 17:31:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10813572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skies_of_blue/pseuds/skies_of_blue
Summary: Still estranged from his family, Percy sneaks back to The Burrow to peek at his family on Christmas morning.





	They Cannot See Me

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

They will not see me. I intend to make sure of that, as the snow crunches under my feet, and I am careful to tread only in spots where footprints have already marred the formerly pristine ice crystals that blanket the grass. The Burrow looks so comforting from this distance, like a physical manifestation of the toasty feeling one gets from a warm butterbeer as it spreads across your insides. 

My own flat is empty and frigid in comparison. 

I will not let them see me though, as I creep near the dried plant stems that poke through the snow in the garden. They are as gnarled and dead as I feel inside, and my mind is suddenly assaulted with memories of Charlie and Bill, so much younger yelling…

_…“Perce! Duck!” A snowball meets the side of my face, knocking my glasses askew and almost making me lose my balance. Bill bounces up from behind a drift at the garden edge to laugh at me as I brush snow off my face._

_“Whoops!” Sorry for that!” he says. I know he is sincere because he grabs my elbow in order to yank me out of the way of another barrage of snow that Charlie has just launched. Charlie is tucked behind a garden fence, and I know he isn’t sorry at all because he curses at Bill for helping me and shouts, “Not fair to hide behind Percy, Bill! You know mum will skin me alive if I break his glasses again and she has to Repario them!”_

_Bill throws an arm around my shoulder before he shouts back, “Then he is definitely on my team!” as I shake my head indignantly._

I am shaking my head now for a different reason; I need to quit dwelling in memories so I can concentrate and move unnoticed. There are too many feelings and too many words that will have to be dealt with if Mum or Dad or someone else sees me. Vaguely, I wonder if Bill or Charlie is within those walls, perhaps enjoying a Christmas morning snack over the kitchen table. 

I continue my creep towards the house, moving around a wheelbarrow left out over the winter, but I fail to see the sled next to it. I must suppress a yelp as pain blossoms in my toe after I accidentally kick the metal runners. I cannot resist the urge to look down at the offending plaything and wonder…yes…this is the same sled that the Weasley boys all received for Christmas many years ago. The rope is now frayed and quite worn, but I can recall the smooth feel of it in my palms as I …

_…pull the twins through the new fallen snow as they shout, “Go horsey, neeeigh horsey!” I stop my movement and turn back to the two four year olds who are clutching the sled with fingers snug in mittens._

_“I am not a horse!” I shout back, appalled that they would call me such a thing. Their identical faces become even pinker as they worry that I may abandon them._

_“No Percy, pull us please?” Fred begs. George gives me the saddest puppy eyes to accompany it. “Please, Please? We’re so very sorry!”_

_I relent and bend to pick up the rope again, but make sure to warn, “I will pull you as long as you don’t call me a horse again.”_

_They nod fervently in agreement, but a few moments later, they begin to say, “Hee haw, hee haw,” with every step I make. I stop walking again and open my mouth to say something, but Fred blurts, “We promised not to call you a horse or neigh like a horse…”_

_“…so we guessed that you wanted to be called a jackass!” George adds._

_I roll my eyes and begin pulling them through the snow again, gripping the slick rope tighter._

I am now holding that rope in my hands, but it is rough with age and I wonder if they will use this sled today after they open their gifts. I must stop becoming distracted by these memories, because the snow is beginning to reflect the faint, pink blush of sunrise. I must hurry before it becomes too bright outside. I cannot let them see me. 

My destination is not far now, and I do not have to worry so much about footprints here because the snow is more disturbed near the house. The blanket of white reveals evidence of snowball fights and snow angels. I find it ironic that something as cold and emotionless as snow is unable to hide anything, while I struggle to hide emotions with coldness. 

I finally reach the house and flatten myself against the wall, next to a window that is garishly decorated with evergreen branches and iridescent ribbons. My heart is thumping in my chest and echoing in my ears. It is also quite difficult to swallow around the lump in my throat, which is a tight knot that has most likely formed due to my exertions rather than something ridiculous like sentimentality. 

I must make sure that they cannot see me as I suck in a deep breath of the bitter cold and steel myself to peak through the window. A Gryffindor must be brave, and I feel that I uphold the reputation as I adjust my glasses and peer through a small section of window that has escaped frost. 

There.

I see.

It is Christmas morning and Mum is standing in my father’s arms, her head pillowed on his chest as he drops a kiss on her graying hair. I am startled to see her vulnerable, because mum is never weak; she is stubborn and boisterous, unable to see things from anybody else’s-- _my_ perspective. I have to find something else to look at, something less uncomfortable than watching the odd despair in my father’s eyes as he stares unfocused over my mum’s head.

I direct my attention to a tree that dominates the room, noticing that Ron is sitting cross legged near the lower branches, his nose wrinkled in distaste as he pulls a maroon jumper from a pile of wrappings. A wadded ball of paper bounces off his face, and he looks up and sticks his tongue out as my little sister comes into view. 

I try peering closer through the unfrosted pane of glass without fogging it with my breath, and I marvel at how much Ginny has grown since I last truly saw her. She is taller now; I see she is beginning to gain the grace of a woman as she sits next to Ron and drops a brightly wrapped package in his lap. I see her kiss his cheek, and it looks as though she has said Happy Christmas from the way her mouth moves, and suddenly…

_...I am there, sitting eagerly next to the tree, waiting so very impatiently to open my very own pile of gifts. I know most are hand made or second hand, but it doesn’t matter because they are mine. Dad is sitting on a chair pulled in from the kitchen, and Ginny perches in his lap, fawning over a crochet doll._

_Mum is a whirlwind of green and red as she scoops Ron off his feet before he filches another chocolate treat from the plate on the end table, all the while yelling for Fred and George to quit hanging undergarments on the Christmas tree. Charlie is holding up a shiny pair of boots for all to see. They are second hand but barely scuffed and he enthusiastically shoves a socked foot into one._

_I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I look up at Bill, who asks, “Did you open mine yet Percy?” with a bit of excitement in his voice. I locate the impeccably wrapped package with, “TO PERCY, LOVE BILL,” scrawled on it. I tear into the paper, revealing a slender box._

_Before I can ask, Bill blurts, “It’s for your new glasses, so they don’t get all smashed when you’re not wearing them. I feel awful about how I teased you when you had to get them this year.”_

_I smile up at him, genuinely touched, and feel loved and comforted and warm and…_

…cold.

I feel very cold as I press my nose to the glass and watch as Ron tears the paper and ribbon off what is obviously a quaffle. Mum kisses Dad’s cheek again, finally smiling when another bespectacled young man enters the room, his raven hair rather noticeable in a sea of redheads. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and I mirror the action with my own. Ron and Ginny grin as he pulls on his green jumper bearing an “H”, while Mum engulfs him in a tremendous hug.

Hugging Harry Potter…

_“Percy,” Mum calls, her voice anguished as she watches me pack my bags. “Please be reasonable about this!”_

Harry Potter, who I once accused of corrupting my younger brother and who I still think is leading him down a path of darkness and lies… 

_“Happy Christmas Percy,” says Ron, smiling up at me from his little pile of Christmas toys…_

My Mum and Dad, who I cannot allow to see me for Christmas or for any holiday for that matter, because they will not submit to the wisdom of the Ministry…

_“Happy Christmas Percy, Mum says as she hands me a surprisingly expensive looking quill that is set in a velvet gift box with only a bow for wrapping. She smiles proudly at me, laying a hand at the side of my face while Dad smiles from behind her._

_“For when you become Minister of Magic and have to sign loads of very important documents,” he says proudly…_

Now everyone on the opposite side of the glass looks happy since they are laughing and sharing sweets and singing and Merlin, it is cold out here…must be why my eyes are watering and stinging. Perhaps I better get moving, because that odd lump is even worse in my throat, and now my face is very damp from these tears which are obviously from the bitter air outside, while they are all together inside where it is warm. I am stumbling back through the snow and my glasses are steaming up and I am gasping over and over when I suck in air but they can’t see me or know I was here because they just can’t 

they just can’t 

they just can’t…

Perhaps next Christmas will be different.


End file.
